


the best all burn out (so bright and so fast)

by flibbertygigget



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Good Barty Crouch Jr., Mind Control, Psychological Torture, Torture, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26982052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbertygigget/pseuds/flibbertygigget
Summary: “The Longbottoms were very popular,” said Dumbledore. “The attacks on them came after Voldemort’s fall from power, just when everyone though tthey were safe. Those attacks caused a wave of fury such as I have never known. The Ministry was under great pressure to catch those who had done it.Unfortunately, the Longbottoms’ evidence was — given their condition —none too reliable.”“Then Mr. Crouch’s son might not have been involved?” said Harry slowly. Dumbledore shook his head.“As to that, I have no idea.”In which Barty Crouch Jr. was not involved. This changes less than you might expect.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 40





	the best all burn out (so bright and so fast)

Harry felt so out of it, so overwhelmed by Cedric’s death and Voldemort’s return, that he barely even heard Mad-Eye Moody’s questions as the professor guided him back to Hogwarts castle. He stuttered, trying to get answers out as well as he could, but even reminding himself that this could be incredibly important did nothing to stop the way the world seemed to be drawing further and further away.

“Drink it ... you’ll feel better ... come on now, Harry, I need to know exactly what happened …” They were in Moody’s office now, and a cup was being pushed into Harry’s hands. Harry took a deep gulp, and he felt the burn of Pepperup Potion searing his throat. Moody’s office came into sharper focus, as did Moody.

“Voldemort’s back, Harry? You’re sure he’s back? How did he do it?”

“He took stuff from his father’s grave, and from Wormtail, and me,” said Harry. His head felt clearer; his scar wasn’t hurting so badly; he could now see Moody’s face distinctly, even though the office was dark. He could still hear screaming and shouting from the distant Quidditch pitch. 

“What did he take from you?’’ said Moody 

“Blood,” said Harry, raising his arm. His sleeve was ripped where Wormtail’s dagger had torn it. Moody let out his breath in a long, low hiss. 

“And the Death Eaters? They returned?” 

“Yes,” said Harry. “Loads of them…” He trailed off. Moody was shaking his head, looking like a dog trying to rid its ears of water. “Professor, are you alright?” Moody was muttering rapidly under his breath. His hands shot up, clawing at his face, and Harry could only stare as bloody rivlets appeared beneath his nails.

“No… no…” Moody moaned. “No… I can’t… I won’t…  _ Master _ …”

“Professor?” said Harry, a little louder. Moody snarled, lunging forward, but before Harry had time to react Moody had flung himself backwards, stumbling as the back of his legs hit the large wooden chest near the wall of his office.

“Just a little longer… Just a little…” Moody’s head snapped up. There was a look of horror on his face, and Harry could see that the one real eye he had left had gone from dark brown, almost black, to a much lighter chestnut. He made a few noises deep in his throat, as though he was being choked by some invisible garrote, and then two words forced themselves past his lips. “Run, Potter.”

Harry scrambled up from his chair. Moody threw himself forward once again, and Harry barely managed to dodge him. He ran for the exit, the deranged professor rushing after him in odd bursts of movement, but before he could reach it the door was blasted open.

“ _ Stupefy! _ ”

Moody was thrown backwards onto the office floor, still twitching in spite of the Stunner. Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall were standing in the doorway, Dumbledore in front, his wand outstretched. 

At that moment, Harry fully understood for the first time why people said Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared. The look upon Dumbledore’s face as he stared down at the unconscious form of Mad-Eye Moody was more terrible than Harry could ever have imagined. There was no benign smile upon Dumbledore’s face, no twinkle in the eyes behind the spectacles. There was cold fury in every line of the ancient face; a sense of power radiated from Dumbledore as though he was giving off burning heat. 

“Professor,” Harry said, not knowing which of the three he was really addressing, “you have to help him, Moody was acting  _ really _ weird-”

“That is not Alastor Moody,” Dumbledore said. He stepped into the office, placed a foot underneath Moody’s unconscious body and kicked him over onto his back, so that his face was visible. It was only then that Harry realized that the twitching hadn’t been from Moody himself but rather from Polyjuice Potion wearing off. To his own surprise, Harry knew the face that had been underneath it.

Barty Crouch Jr. was no longer the frightened teenager Harry had seen in Dumbledore’s memories. His cheeks were sunken, almost skull-like, and there were deep lines on his forehead and around his mouth that reminded Harry of Sirius’s prematurely aged face. Lying there on the ground, he looked stick-thin, brittle, and not at all like the person who had lunged at Harry only a minute before. The cuts where he had gorged into his own skin were still there, bleeding sluggishly, and Harry felt an unexpected wave of pity. Whatever was going on here, Barty Crouch Jr. hadn’t seemed to be entirely on board with it.

“Severus, please fetch me the strongest Truth Potion you possess,” Dumbledore said. “I believe that will illuminate things nicely. Then go down to the kitchens, and bring up the house-elf called Winky. Minerva, kindly go down to Hagrid’s house, where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch. Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, then come back here.” Both Snape and McGonagall left, neither seeming to find Dumbledore’s instructions strange.

“Professor Dumbledore, Moody - I mean, Crouch - he seemed… I don’t know.” Harry was shaking, he could feel it now. “I don’t think he was alright.” 

“Things will be clearer once he has taken the Truth Potion,” Dumbledore said. He had unlocked the large wooden chest, revealing the real Moody at the bottom. Harry thought that he would have been more interested if he hadn’t been watching Barty Crouch Jr. so closely. The man was stirring, muttering nonsense as he made his way to consciousness. There were hurried footsteps outside the door. Snape had returned with Winky, McGonagall right behind him. The noise was enough to arouse Crouch Jr. completely from the Stunner.

“Severus?” he said. His eyes darted between Snape, McGonagall, Harry, and Dumbledore. “Professor McGonagall?”

“Hello, Barty,” Snape said. His voice sounded strange, almost as though he was keeping it steady through sheer force of will. Winky was peering around Snape’s legs. Her mouth opened wide and she let out a piercing shriek.

“Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you doing here?” Barty Crouch Jr.’s face broke into a wide smile.

“‘Lo, Winky,” he said. She flung herself onto Crouch Jr.’s chest, and he used one thin hand to pat her gingerly on the back.

“You is not supposed to be here, Master Barty. There is bad things here, bad wizards-”

“I’m fine, Winky, better than I’ve been in years.” He looked up at Dumbledore, his gaze oddly unfocused. “I suppose I’ll be going back to Azkaban, then?” Winky let out a heart-wrenching cry.

“No, no, no. You is not going back there, Winky is not letting them.”

“That is very much what we are going to find out,” Dumbledore said. He held out his hand to Snape, and the Potions Master silently handed him a small vial of clear liquid. Harry recognized it as the Veritaserum that Snape had threatened him with, and Crouch Jr. evidently knew what the potion was as well.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s new. Best get on with it, I suppose.” Dumbledore tipped the potion down the dead man’s throat without resistance, and Barty Crouch Jr. relaxed bonelessly onto the floor.

“Can you hear me?” Dumbledore asked quietly. Crouch Jr.’s eyelids flickered.

“Yes,” he muttered.

“I would like you to tell us,” said Dumbledore softly, “how you came to be here. How did you escape from Azkaban?” He took a deep, shuddering breath and began to tell his story.

“My mother saved me. She knew I had never tortured the Longbottoms, that I had as little to do with that crowd as I could manage, and she knew she was dying. She persuaded my father to rescue me as a last favor to her. He loved her as he had never loved me. He agreed. They came to visit me. They gave me a draught of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my mother's hairs. She took a draught of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my hairs. We took on each other’s appearance.

“The dementors are blind. They sensed one healthy, one dying person entering Azkaban. They sensed one healthy, one dying person leaving it. My father smuggled me out, disguised as my mother, in case any prisoners were watching through their doors. My mother died a short while afterward in Azkaban, buried under my name and bearing my appearance. Everyone believed her to be me.” Crouch Jr. was blinking rapidly, and Harry thought he could see tears in the man’s eyes. “She saved me. I wasn’t sane enough at the time to even thank her.”

“And what did your father do with you, when he got you home?” said Dumbledore. Before his voice had simply been grave, but now it seemed to have grown even heavier with sympathy.

“He staged my mother’s death. That grave is empty. Winky nursed me back to health, but my father was still convinced I was a Death Eater. He wouldn’t listen to me, no matter what I said. So I had to be concealed, controlled. He used potions to subdue me at first, then the Imperius Curse when my tolerance for the potions grew too strong. I had to wear an Invisibility Cloak day and night. I only had Winky. She took care of me. She pitied me. She persuaded my father to give me occasional treats, rewards for my good behavior.”

“Poor, poor Master Barty,” sobbed Winky through her hands. “You is getting Winky in trouble, you is telling the Master Winky is being a bad house-elf…”

“Did anybody ever discover that you were still alive?” said Dumbledore softly. “Did anyone know except your father and the house-elf?”

“Yes,” said Crouch, his eyelids flickering again. “A witch in my father's office. Bertha Jorkins. She came to the house with papers for my father's signature. He was not at home. Winky showed her inside and returned to the kitchen, to me. But Bertha Jorkins heard Winky talking to me. She heard enough to guess who was hiding under the Invisibility Cloak. Winky begged her to tell the Ministry what my father was doing, but then my father arrived home. She confronted him. He put a very powerful Memory Charm on her to make her forget what she’d found out. Too powerful. He said it damaged her memory permanently.”

“And the Quidditch World Cup?” asked Dumbledore.

“That was after - after-” Crouch Jr.’s breaths came faster, panic breaking through the Veritaserum. “I was under  _ his _ \- and  _ Pettigrew _ -”

“Tell me about that.”

“They arrived late one night. Winky was asleep, my father was asleep. There was Pettigrew, I recognized him from school, and - and - and You-Know-Who. He said he had found Bertha Jorkins, broken through the Memory Charm. He said he could help me escape from my father. I thought - I knew it was wrong, what he’d tell me to do, but I thought it would be worth it if I could be free. I agreed, and then  _ he  _ went in my head. He saw all my memories, all of it, and he had Pettigrew put me under another Imperius. From that point forward, I would be  _ his. _

“After that, Winky knew I was acting differently. I couldn’t fight two Imperius Curses at once, so I was even more obedient and listless than I usually was. She thought I was depressed, so she convinced my father to allow me to go to the Quidditch World Cup. It was carefully planned. My father led me and Winky up to the Top Box early in the day. Winky was to say she was saving a seat for my father. I was to sit there, invisible. Nobody would ever know.

“I knew that You-Know-Who had made a - a connection to my mind. I had been working, trying to block it. I had been getting better at that; my mind was strengthened by fighting my father’s control for so many years. And that was why I thought that I could maybe come up with a plan. If I did something, something to make You-Know-Who do something reckless, then maybe I would be found and the truth discovered. Maybe it would all be over.

“I let You-Know-Who see Lucius Malfoy up in the Top Box, one of his Death Eaters a traitor, a confidant of the Minister of Magic. He was furious. He had me steal a wand from the boy in front of me. He had me try to slip away, but Winky had been ordered to keep me confined to my father’s tent. He wanted me to kill her. I fought against him. I was able to escape into the woods when the Death Eaters started terrorizing the Muggles. Winky followed me. You-Know-Who made me put up the Dark Mark as a warning to them. He began to torture me, and I dropped the wand. Winky had followed me and picked up the wand. My father freed her as punishment for failing to control me.”

“How did you come to impersonate Alastor Moody?” Dumbledore asked.

“You-Know-Who decided he needed to keep a closer eye on me. He had me use the Imperius on my father. That was - That was satisfying, too satisfying, and I slipped completely under his control again. I was too weak to get back control. He had me attack Moody and disguise myself as him using Polyjuice. He knew about the Triwizard Tournament and wanted me to use it to bring the Boy Who Lived to him.”

“And how were you going to do that?”

“When I got to Hogwarts, he couldn’t have me as close. I began to get more control again, but I knew I would have to be more subtle. I was supposed to put the boy’s name in and make the Goblet choose him as Hogwarts Champion. I Confounded it to think there was a fourth school instead. I thought he wouldn’t be allowed to compete then. It didn’t work. I made You-Know-Who think that I was too weak a wizard to do things his way, and he punished me.

“I had to help the boy get through the tasks. I didn’t want to get him killed in trying to save him, so I followed You-Know-Who’s instructions to the letter. I tried to make myself suspicious as a teacher, since You-Know-Who didn’t care about those details and I could hide them better. I Transfigured the Malfoy boy and demonstrated the Unforgivables, used them on students. No one seemed to think it was unusual. I stole from Severus’s stores instead of buying the Polyjuice ingredients, but he just thought Moody was suspicious of him.”

“And what became of your father?” Dumbledore asked. Crouch Jr. shuddered.

“My father knew how to fight the Imperius. He slipped away from Pettigrew. You-Know-Who knew that he was making his way to Hogwarts, to tell Dumbledore everything. He wanted me to kill my father. I tried to fight at first, tried telling myself that everything being known would mean that I would be free, but I was too weak. I couldn’t - I - I-” He shook his head rapidly, his entire body trembling. “I had wanted to kill my father for so long. For not believing me, for throwing me in Azkaban, for killing my mother, for keeping me under his control. I couldn’t fight You-Know-Who enough, not when he was giving me the opportunity for everything I had ever wanted. I murdered my father and Transfigured the body. I was completely under You-Know-Who’s control once again.”

The room was silent except for Winky’s heart-wrenching sobs. McGonagall looked horribly torn, Snape and Dumbledore less so. For his part, Harry just felt vaguely ill. After everything that had happened that night, the fact that there had been someone trying to warn them all year hardly registered except as a dull, aching stab of regret.

“And then what happened?” said Dumbledore gently. There were tears running down Barty Crouch Jr.’s cheeks.

“You-Know-Who had me turn the trophy into a Portkey. I managed to make it two-way, but the effort of doing that, of  _ hiding _ that… My mind was exhausted. I couldn’t fight him anymore. He had me Imperius Krum and had him use the Cruciatus on Delacour. He had me try to hurt Diggory as well, but Potter managed to save him. 

“When he came back, I almost blacked out. His grip on my mind felt stronger than ever. But then - But then he tried to make me kill Potter. I fought as hard as I could. I failed, but then you came in. When you used the Stupefy, it counteracted the Imperius Curse. I was free.” Barty Crouch Jr. squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed several times. “I think… I think I would like to go to sleep now.” Dumbledore sat back on his heels, looking older than Harry had ever seen him.

“Headmaster,” Snape said after a long, heavy silence, “we cannot allow anyone in the Ministry to see him.”

“Severus, if the truth can be revealed-”

“Don’t be an optimistic fool. Fudge has more to gain from shutting him up than allowing the truth to come out. He has already expressed his doubts publicly, and Crouch was too respected for his crimes against his son to be believed.”

“If there is even the slightest possibility-”

“ _ No! _ ” Winky cried, throwing herself at Dumbledore’s feet. “Please, Master Headmaster! Winky can helps poor Master Barty. Winky can be a good house-elf. Don’t makes Master Barty go back to the bad Ministry wizards! Winky is begging you, sir!”

“Albus,” McGonagall said when Dumbledore didn’t answer Winky, “is a slight chance at the truth being known really worth that poor boy’s soul? You know what will happen to him if he’s found to have escaped Azkaban.” Dumbledore let out a sigh and seemed to make a decision.

“The truth must be known,” he said, “but not like this. Severus, Minerva, I leave the details in your capable hands. Harry, I’m afraid I must ask more of you tonight than I may have otherwise.”

“It’s okay, sir,” Harry said, glancing at the unconscious form of Barty Crouch Jr. “I’d rather that no one else died tonight.”


End file.
